


Sleepsong

by QueenForADay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Geralt wakes from a nightmare and Jaskier helps idk what else to say, Implied Sexual Content, Let Geralt Be Soft 2k20, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Jaskier, Scars, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: Some part of him wishes that people could see this – the man that they all fear so much, the Witcher, a hunter of the supernatural and evil, placated by his bard’s voice, melting into his arms. All he’s missing is hearing Geralt purr like a housecat. Every so often, Jaskier’s ears prick at the sound of a murmur of a hum leaving the other man, particularly when Jaskier presses a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head, or runs his foot along the length of Geralt’s bared leg.And at the same time, he would gladly pick up a sword and kill anyone who even thought of intruding on a moment like this.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 96
Kudos: 2824
Collections: Best Geralt, GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, witcher





	Sleepsong

Some part of him wishes that people could see this – the man that they all fear so much, the Witcher, a hunter of the supernatural and evil, placated by his bard’s voice, melting into his arms. All he’s missing is hearing Geralt purr like a housecat. Every so often, Jaskier’s ears prick at the sound of a murmur of a hum leaving the other man, particularly when Jaskier presses a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head, or runs his foot along the length of Geralt’s bared leg.

And at the same time, he would gladly pick up a sword and kill anyone who even thought of intruding on a moment like this. Others that are staying in the tavern for the night walk up and down the hallway outside, falling into rooms of their own. Even with a door and walls standing between them and the world outside, Jaskier’s hackles are raised just in case. This is for his eyes only.

He hums a song – nothing entirely recognisable, but chords and sections of pieces he’s heard over the years, strung them together into a melody. His voice is barely loud enough to carry itself into the air. The hearth nearby crackles, and the tavern below their room is still very much alive with patrons drinking and conversing among themselves. But Geralt must hear it just fine. With him fitted comfortably against Jaskier’s chest and front, _splayed_ is the only word that could be used to describe how they’re both positioned.

Jaskier combs his fingers through the man’s hair, letting grey strands run through his touch, before starting it all over again. His other hand is on Geralt’s chest. Underneath his palm, there’s a heartbeat; slow, but regular, constant. Beside his thumb, resting over what would be Geralt’s breastbone, there’s a jagged white line. Jaskier stops his song. “And where did you get this one?” he traces his finger along it. It doesn’t stand out like some of the others; ridges of skin, healed badly to form knots of skin.

Geralt hums, peering down at where Jaskier’s hand is. He might have been asleep, the bard thinks to himself. Or close enough to it. When Geralt speaks, it’s lower and huskier than usual. “Run in with a kikimore queen,” he replies simply, before letting his head fall back against Jaskier’s chest.

They’ve spoken about some of his scars before. Jaskier knows the stories of the worst of them; a mangled chain on Geralt’s side, where teeth had sunk into his side; when claws, blades, and magic cut, pierced, and singed his skin and never quite healed properly.

Jaskier hums. “I should start wrapping you in cotton,” he says, “since you insist on rushing into things without much thought.” And at the same time, he knows that Geralt would throw him out of the nearest window if he tried. The man _is_ careful. Sometimes. Maybe once in a blue moon. But he can look after himself, and while his skin might be marred, Geralt is still very much alive.

And his heart continues to beat steadily under Jaskier’s hand once he returns it to the man’s chest.

* * *

They fall asleep like that, entangled in one another. The hearth still burns, with some wood that a very kind tavern-hand thankfully left piled up outside the door to their room. As the closest one to the fire, Jaskier slowly surfaces to wakefulness with warmth hugging his front. It isn’t until he shifts slightly, pulling some of the sheets further over himself, does he realise that the body that should be by him is gone.

Sitting up far too quickly for this time of night, Jaskier rubs at his eyes, wishing away the last traces of sleep. Despite the fire, the room is still dark. He can make out the outlines of furnishings pushed along the wall, and the back of a chair that is being used as a rack for clothes.

Jaskier looks to the other side of the bed. Perched on the edge, bent over slightly, is Geralt; motionless, with his head in his hands.

A small sigh of relief rushes out from Jaskier. “There you are,” he says quietly. In the silence of the room, the words sound louder than they mean to. Even the tavern goers downstairs have long since left, wobbling back along dirt roads to their own homes. Or falling into ditches to wait out the night.

Jaskier frees himself from the sheets wrapped around his legs, and shuffles close to the other man. The movement is what shocks Geralt. Suddenly, Geralt has turned his torso, a hand frozen in midair. Jaskier frowns. The other man’s eyes are wide and darting around the room.

“Geralt,” he breathes. “Do you know where you are?”

After a few seconds, whatever that had been in Geralt’s eyes tempers. He looks over to another corner in the room, regarding it for a moment. “Hmm.”

 _Well,_ Jaskier blinks, _it’s better than nothing_. As gently as he can, he reaches for Geralt’s outstretched hand, letting their fingers intertwine and link. Jaskier tilts his head. Moonlight streams in through a small gap in the curtains nearby. It’s enough to light the bead of sweat dotted along Geralt’s skin.

“What woke you up?” Because although Geralt often tethers on the cusp of sleep most nights, able to rest his eyes, but still be ready for an attack should it come, whenever they stay in taverns and inns on crossroads, Geralt can’t be roused from the sleep that overtakes him.

So whatever came to him tonight must have been bad.

“It’s nothing.” Geralt doesn’t look at him, but lets Jaskier shuffle that bit closer.

He runs his hand along the expanse of Geralt’s back. “If it woke you up at this hour, and put you in this mood, then it must be something. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here with open ears.” He doesn’t get a reply. Geralt doesn’t even move a muscle. Jaskier sighs. “Or a distraction, if you need one.”

It earns him a sideways glance and an arched eyebrow. “I don’t think now is the right time for-”

“-I meant that I could sing to you again, you arse. Don’t be crass.” Jaskier makes to swat him across the shoulder. “I’m not sex-crazed. Despite what you seem to think.”

“It’s not my fault that your reputation speaks for you anywhere we go.” And even in the little light struggling to fight itself into the room, Jaskier can make out the ghost of a smile tugging the corner of Geralt’s lip.

Well, if he’s well enough to make quips at Jaskier’s expense, then he must be fine.

But Jaskier’s side is cold without a body there to warm it. He reaches for Geralt’s arm, tugging him gently. “Come and lie down,” he says. To his surprise, Geralt follows without as much as a struggle. Gods only know what time it is. A full moon is perched high in the sky outside, with not a cloud to be seen to block its light. As soon as Geralt relaxes back into the collection of pillows piled by the headboard, Jaskier lies against him. He half-expects to be shrugged off, or at the very least, have Geralt lie there like a piece of timber, unmoving. He’s surprised when the other man curls an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, holding him firmly against the length of Geralt’s body.

Whatever had woke him up, whatever had turned his blood cold and put him skittish as a deer in an open meadow, slowly seeps out of him. Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s chest, over the kikimore scar he told him about not a few hours before, and feels the man’s heart start to slow.

 _Fear_. Jaskier swallows, pillowing his head in the juncture of Geralt’s neck and shoulder. _He’s afraid._

Geralt is quiet. So much so, that for a brief moment, Jaskier thinks that he might have fallen back asleep. But the other man moves slightly, holding Jaskier that bit firmer, as if he’d slip away. It’s nice, for a moment, to be held. It’s a warmth that heats Jaskier’s bones. But there’s something lingering in the air. Craning his head up to look at the man, he finds Geralt’s brows knitted together in a frown; his amber eyes staring off into some corner of the room. Jaskier sighs. “I know you have night terrors-”

“-Jaskier-”

“-No, I’m talking, and you’re listening,” Jaskier prods a finger into Geralt’s collarbone. “I know you do. You think I haven’t noticed in all the nights we’ve spent travelling and lying together.” The thought of moving away from Geralt chills him, but he needs to slightly to make sure that the other man is looking at him when he continues. “I don’t know what kind of monsters are lurking around in that head of yours, but I imagine you’ve seen all sorts of horrid things. I want you to know that I’m here. If you need to talk about any of it, I’ll listen.”

Geralt regards him for a moment. His expression softens. “Thank you.”

He’s a stubborn git. That’s just something Jaskier has made peace with. Even with all the time that has passed since meeting each other, and the time of them being together, only a couple of layers have been peeled back from Geralt of Rivia. There’s no use in making the man promise to talk to him about any problems that he has; he’ll keep it to himself, like he always does, or even deny the fact that he’s having problems in the first place. There’s no point.

But at least Jaskier has made a point known. For all that he talks, and he talks _a lot_ , he’s a very good listener.

**Author's Note:**

> Soft!Geralt2k20  
> Supportive!Jaskier2k20
> 
> And I won't hear another word about these campaigns, but that they are right and just. 
> 
> Tumblr: yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos & Comments gladly appreciated x


End file.
